


The dinner is safe with us?

by KingPengu



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Celebrations, Chaos, Christmas Dinner, Cooking, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPengu/pseuds/KingPengu
Summary: The Lockwood & Co. Gang decide that this year they're going to make the christmas dinner without Mrs Cubbins help. Turns out they're not quite cut out for such a big task.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	The dinner is safe with us?

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little secret Santa gift to everyone on the Lockwood & Co. Discord server! I hope you all enjoy 💕

For the past few years, Mrs Cubbins has always come around to Portland row for christmas. She's adamant that a Christmas dinner is only done right if it's done by her. You can't blame her after all. Have you seen Lockwood and I's cooking? The only blades we can be trusted with are the rapiers, and that's only because the target is generally much larger than a tomato.

Well, this year is different. The delightful members of Lockwood & Co. decided it's time to break tradition - the routine. Away with her slaving in the kitchen. It's our turn, so let's paint the scene.

Here's me: Lucy Carlyle, and here's Holly and George (Lockwood suddenly  _ needed _ to go to the shop for something. Apparently it's imperative he goes now. Just as food preparation is going on.). George is faffing about trying to find a whisk amongst the kitchen clutter, Holly is calmly talking about why baby pink is the best colour and why by under no means should it ever be disrespected. I'm nodding along, a smile on my face, snipping chipolatas apart from each other fresh from the package. The thinking cloth has been covered in bowls, vegetables and right in front of me is a tray lined with tinfoil.

Thanks to the smartass with glasses, the turkey has been stuffed (cranberry, breadcrumbs, sausage meat with a bonus bit of carrot.), Placed on a pan with chopped carrots and onions (with the peels) and rubbed with olive oil and a sprinkling of crushed chestnuts before being shoved in the oven at 180°. As that's done, what we need to focus on is the real deal. The non stop grind mission: roast potatoes, pigs in blankets, yorkshire puddings, gravy, mixed veg, Brussel sprouts, and the mashed potatoes. If Holly has the time we're making ginger biscuits too. 

I've been tasked with the job of making the pigs in blankets, George the yorkies and Holly is peeling the potatoes.

"Aahhh… oooh"

Mrs Cubbins swings open the door. She sniffs the air dramatically, it's become clear that my attempt at getting her comfy with a cup of tea and kipps' attempt to keep her distracted (Sorry Kipps but someone has to do it) has failed miserably.

"The Turkey's smelling lovely dear. Did you do the chestnuts on the top like I suggested?"

She trundles over to the oven, squeezing past me with a pat on the shoulder. I give a friendly nod and smile in response. The oven doors opened, she sniffs the turkey and takes a quick peek before slamming the door closed again, just as the oven light clicks back on (That means the oven isn't at the set temperature because you've let all the hot air escape).

"Oh you did! Well done" 

With a grin on her face she turns to envelope her son in a tight hug. With a groan, George shoves her off, going on a rant about what she should be doing instead of annoying us three. There's a series of tuts from her, and Holly, being Holly, tries to mediate the situation with rationality. 

"George please…" a sigh "how about some tea?" A hopeful glance. "Mrs Cubbins? How about a cup of~" 

"No you're fine sweetheart I can do it myself."

I suppose you can't win everything. Holly might've cut the wrong wire on the bomb but hell, it did half the job and you can't complain at that. 

I realise how distracted I've become. Back to the task at hand.

Putting the sausage packet down, I pick up the packet of bacon slices. With my scissors I cut it open and remove the pieces, laying them down over the tinfoil.

I know that there's a step involving combining the bacon and the sausages but for the love of me i can't quite figure it out. Mrs Cubbins notices my furrowed eyebrows and in typical fashion, glides over to lend a helping hand. The kettle continues to boil in the background. Cups baron of teabags.

Being stubborn, my first approach is to shoo her off, but then my want to get it right hits, so I retreat. She shows me how to wrap one. You take the bacon and place the end on the top of the sausage and like tinsel on a Christmas tree, wrap it around until you reach the bottom.

I tell her I've got the hang of it and she shakes her head with a warm smile.

"A little bit of help won't hurt... Oh the tea!"

"I'll get it" That was Holly, dropping the tattie in her hand to attend to the kettle that just clicked off.

"Holly's my favourite child" Mrs Cubbins muses

"Oy. She's not even your child" 

I look over at George. He's finally found the whisk and managed to retrieve the eggs and milk. He's currently getting the flour from the cupboard. After making the short 2 step journey to the table, he slams the flour down. Into his bowl go the eggs. He whisks it and adds the milk, whisks again before starting to add flour a bit at a time until it becomes a somewhat thick paste a bit like double cream. To top it off he adds a pinch of salt for good measure.

I look down again to realise I was completely distracted and that all the pigs in blankets have been completed. Mrs Cubbins places the final one on the tray.

Our mission to do this without her isn't going well at all.

\---

The stakes are high and tension is ripe. The roast turkey is out after Me, Kipps and George all tried to move the turkey onto its own plate (Mrs Cubbins brought it over from her house). Now everything has to be done fast. The brussel sprouts need tossing in bacon and butter, the yorkies are in and have to end up just right, the potatoes (that aren't currently being roasted) need to be drained and mashed. To top it all off, we have the matter of gravy.

Every year the gravy has always been made from scratch using the juice and veg from the turkey and this year there's no exception. George is adamant he knows what he's doing but I'm skeptical. 

"Where did you put the butter" Quill asks, he's on the brussels. 

"I told you a minute ago - it's by the kettle"

"Why would you put it there!"

The boys are bickering but I'm on a role. I stick a knife into a potato to see if it's done. I think it is? It's close enough if not. I turn the bottom left hob off and remove the pan just as I realise that I didn't take out a bleeding colander. 

I curse under my breath, slamming the pot on the side and pushing past George to reach the cupboard next to the fridge. He's in the middle of transferring the Turkey's tray to the hob i was previously using, yapping on about why I should've turned it off and that it was a waste of both of our time.

I open the cupboard, retrieve the colander and make my way through the boys in a fashion that, to an unsuspecting eye, would look like an intense game of twister.

But we're not stressed. We're having a  _ perfectly _ happy time. So  _ happy _ . I'm having  _ so _ much fun.

The colander goes in the sink, the potatoes and all of its liquid follows. I give it a quick shake before lobbing all the potatoes back into the pot.

"Quill, i need the butter and whi~".

"Busy.".

I groan and roll my eyes.

The front door clicks. There's a shuffle. A load of kerfuffle. The door clicks again. 

Lockwoods home. 

A sigh of relief unconsciously escapes from my lips. He's pretty useless but the least he can do is fetch me the butter and milk. Oh and a masher. Wherever that is.

Lockwood does just what I expected. He swings open the kitchen door and walts in with a grin. He observes the chaos with a sigh.

"Ah I see Holly has gotten her settled." 

He cocks his head towards the kitchen door as it clicks closed.

After Mrs Cubbins tried to take over (again) whilst cradling a fresh cup of brew, we all agreed through silent glances that the task of keeping her away should be up to Holly. So her and Kipps did a quick swap and the chaos caused by him joining us only died down when we were all sat waiting for things to boil. In hindsight, that shouldn't have been an excuse for a tea and biscuit break. But that's what we did.

I let out a breathy laugh, moving a loose strand of hair from my face "... Yeah. Hey lockwood?"

"Mhm?"

"Would you mind passing over the butter, milk and if there's one near you, a masher?"

"Of course"

Like a giddy giselle he hops and glides from the fridge and past kipps and, not before pulling a face at George, retrieves a masher from what seemed like thin air. 

Chaos remains for the next 10 minutes but over that time, the mash gets made, the gravy gets completed, the sprouts get plated along with the roasties, yorkies, steamed veg and pigs in blankets. The gravy boat gets retrieved from the back of a dusty cupboard and wiped down to be quickly filled with the sauce of gods.

Final touches are added to the table. Cranberry sauce, bread sauce. Even mint sauce makes it onto the table somehow. Oh and i almost forgot! There's horse-radish too.

The last thing is up to me. I take the last serving bowl and scoop in the, as I'm only just noticing, slightly lumpy mash. It gets placed on the table.

We all stand for a minute, looking over our creation. All this food. All the plates, knives, forks, christmas crackers and the skulls charred remains. I get filled with a deep sense of pride. We made this. we did this. Did we intend for it to be a calm and relaxing experience? Maybe. Did it turn out like that? Not really. But hey, we still finished it. We still got the job done. You couldn't ask for much more.

Everyone congregates and sits down at the table. I notice a bowl of salad make its way onto the table in a typical Munro fashion™️.

We all chat and have a laugh, food is eaten and enjoyed (though, my mash was questionable). Once plates are empty and the pudding has been eaten, we know it's time to end our day - or christmas dinner - off with a bang. Literally.

We pull crackers and put on our stupid paper hats. Holly lends Kipps one of hers as he'd managed to lose on both of his goes.

To wind off the night, I'll share one of the best (worst) jokes from the crackers.

**_What do reindeer hang on their Christmas trees? Horn-aments!_ **

  
  
  
  



End file.
